Mommy, Why Are You Crying?
by NerdWithWings
Summary: She would never forgive herself for making a child see her that way—for making a child see Dean that way.
1. Why Are You Crying?

**Author's Note:**

Again, this work is based on an RP with one of my friends here on FF (username: 5423789). This side of the story wasn't explored fully so I wanted to write it out. This is in honor of my friend D (username: distortedme) who asked for this.

The only character I own is Gale.

* * *

Gale sat at a bench at the nearby park, watching people and children pass by. It was one of days that she hated cooping herself up in the office. The sun was warm, the breeze was cool and fresh, the sky was impeccably blue, and the sound of children playing was a symphony.

She smiled as she watched a group of children playing hide and seek, already forming in her head where one would hide. The smaller chubby one would probably go hide behind the small bushes by the fountain. The tall gangly one would most definitely climb a tree. The petite girl would race towards the jungle and crawl into one of those large pipes. The one with braces would smartly hide by the group of mothers chatting away at the corner of the park since none of the other kids would dare search near the mothers.

Where would her child go?

Gale hummed as she imagined a small girl with bronze skin, dark, curly hair, and a bright smile. She'll mostly likely get her eyes since she had heard from Nick that hers would be the more dominant one, but she'll forever wish that the child would have Dean's eyes. His wonderful brown eyes would turn light and almost amber in the warm light of the sun would have looked wonderful on her.

And she knew. She would tell her daughter "Wherever the seeker is going, hide somewhere behind him or her". Children chosen as seekers always leave their area too early, eager to find the other children. Her daughter then would giggle, peeking out from behind the tree that she was hiding in, before bounding over to the base, her bright smile challenging the sunlight that shone through the trees around her. And she would win. Oh, her daughter's smile would always win.

The other kids would groan and comment how they always couldn't find her. She would giggle and tell them her mother taught her a secret when playing hide and seek since her mother was the best at it when she was her age.

They would go for two more rounds, and her daughter would win again. She'd smile brightly at her friends, her eyes, though her mother's startling gray, would have the confident and wise look that her father has.

Gale would check the time and notice that it was getting late. She would have called out to her daughter and wave her over to her bench. A smile would easily slip to her face as she would watch her daughter— _their_ daughter—run up to her and give her a big hug, giggling lightly in her ear.

"Did you see me, Mom? Did you see?" she would ask, bouncing in her mother's arms.

Gale would smile and nod her head, undeniable warmth coursing through her veins for her bundle of joy—her one source of peace. "I did. Tres bien, ma petit fleur."

Her daughter would smile, bearing her small and developing teeth at her. Gale would kiss her forehead and stand up, packing away their things in her daughter's small backpack before slinging the strap over her shoulder.

"Aren't we going to wait for Dad?" her daughter would ask. She would wonder why her mother's smile dropped a bit or why her gray eyes, a mirror of her own, dimmed a little. Her mother might think that just because she was young, she wouldn't see. But their daughter could see it well. She could see how her mother's smile…was a lie.

Gale would let out a light laugh, a forced one, and answer, "Dad's…going to be home late."

The two would never say it out loud, but the word _"again"_ was evident in their silence, on tip of their tongue, on the breath that left their lips. Her daughter would simply nod and hold her mother's hand, hold it firmly and tightly, as if any minute her mother might turn to mist, might fade like the smile on her lips or the warmth in her eyes.

As the two would walk to their home, Gale would try to have a light conversation, avoiding the black hole that followed them. Their daughter had just started school. Her teachers were nice. Her classmates were nice. She made a friend named Colette. Next week, they were going to start finger painting.

When they would reach a crossing, the daughter would immediately raise her hand in the air as her mother would push the button on the lamp post to let them cross.

"Mom, you have to raise your hand too," their daughter would insist, raising her hand in the air as high as she could.

"Dad said that we should always be careful when crossing," she would say, tugging on her mother's hand lightly. "Raising your hand would let the drivers see you and stop."

Gale would smile fondly at her child and at the memory. That would be the time that they escorted him to work. Dean raised his hand high as he crossed with their daughter on the street, taking shorter strides so that their daughter would be able to catch up.

With a nod and a smile, Gale would raise her free hand up and cross the street. She would smile down at their daughter, glad to have her in her life. The look of sheer determination on her child's face to keep her hand up would be so endearing and so painfully familiar. It was the same look that Dean had when he would concentrate on his cases before he would lock himself in his study.

Once they would reach home, they would go into their routines. Gale would follow her daughter up to their daughter's room and help her take off her jacket and arrange her things from her bag. Her books from her school would go up on the light blue mini bookshelf at one corner of the room. Her notebooks would be placed on her desk next to her white and pale blue bed, ready for when she has to do her homework. Wrappers for sweets and snacks would then be thrown in her little green trashcan at the very corner of the room.

After helping their daughter take a bath, Gale would lead her to the kitchen where their dinner would be heated. Light conversation would start up again, though the empty chair at the very head of the table would always prove to be the black hole. Their daughter, as animated as ever, would tell Gale all kinds of stories from her school using her hands and, sometimes, her food. She would tell of how this one kid got in trouble for stealing another kid's shoe, how this girl was weird for following this boy around with a "weird expression", how this boy named Mathias got sent to the nurse's office for licking glue, and how their teacher almost slipped on a piece of lettuce that Caleb did not want to eat.

Of course, Gale would listen to every single word that their daughter said. The enthusiastic and energized tone from their daughter would make up for all of those years with dinners alone. She would be so thankful for that. Again, their daughter would provide her peace.

It was only when they had finished eating, when the dishes were washed, when their daughter was put to bed, and when Gale sat at the dinner table once more with Dean's dinner would everything crash down on her again. She was back to all of those earlier years. She would constantly reheat Dean's dinners as she would hold back on her tears and watch the hands on the clock run their course.

From eight to nine, nine to ten, ten to eleven, she would wait and wait and wait. Every hour, she would reheat the dinner as she strained to hear the jingle of the keys, the click of the lock, and the gentle call of her name. She would wait for arms to wrap around her shoulders and the sharp smell of winter and soap to fill her senses. She would imagine a time where the latest would be nine in the evening.

Gale would wait and wait and wait until it would be almost midnight and the tears that she held back would break down each of her walls and sear down her cheeks. Her eyes would be trained on the dinner that was slowly turning cold as she felt the bite of pain and longing infiltrate her mind and heart. And worse of all, she would know that this was still part of the routine.

"Mommy? Why are you crying?" a gentle and sleepy voice would ask.

Gale would let out a gentle gasp and snap her head towards their daughter, the little girl still clad in her pajamas and slowly rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"What's wrong, Mommy? Why are you crying over Dad's dinner?"

The bite would turn to a violent tear as she would start to swipe at her eyes, ashamed that their daughter caught her in that condition.

With shaky hands and a shaky smile, she would answer, "It's nothing, ma petit fleur. You have nothing to worry about. I'm just…tearing up from joy and…love for your Dad."

Their daughter would pad towards her mother and wrap her arms around her mother's leg, clinging on to it as she pressed her cheek to her knee. Gale's heart would become warm once more as her mind would become quite. Carefully, she would lift their daughter on to her lap and hug all of her pain and longing away.

Their daughter's arms would try to go around her mother's middle, though they were still too short to do so. Burying her head in her mother's shoulder and sweet-smelling hair, she would say, "Should I cry for Daddy too?"

There would be a sharp intake of breath as Gale would slowly pull away, her puffy eyes staring right at the gray that mirrored hers.

"Jane Althaea Thomas," she would say softly, fighting the urge to break out into another wave of tears, " _Never_ show your father your tears. I simply forbid it."

"Why not?" their daughter would ask curiously, tilting her head slightly. "I'm really happy, and I love Daddy too."

Gale would shake her head, pressing her lips together as she would fight back a sob. "Only your Mommy can cry for him right now. You can…do other things to show your Dad that you love him. What about making a finger painting for him tomorrow, yes?"

Their daughter would smile and nod enthusiastically before letting out a yawn. Her eyelids would slowly flutter open and close, the long lashes fanning her cheeks.

"I think," Gale would start gently, pulling their daughter close and rubbing the child's back soothingly, "you should head up and get some rest. We want to wake up and create a great picture for Dad, yes?"

Their daughter would nod slowly, or perhaps that was just her trying to fight off the exhaustion.

"You should go to sleep too, Mom," she would say, yawning right in the middle of her sentence.

Gale would look at the dinner on the table, a light frown on her face.

"I have to wait for your Dad," she would want to say but would think better of it for the sake of their daughter.

Instead, Gale would answer in a quiet voice, "All right. You go up the stairs, and I'll get some rest too. Can Mommy stay with you tonight?"

Their daughter would nod and slide off her mother's lap, walking back towards her room in sleepy excitement at the thought of having her mother sleep over.

When she would hear the soft click of her daughter's bedroom door, Gale would take the Dean's dinner and reheat it one last time, straining her ears for the musical sounds of his arrival before hearing the beep of the microwave cutting through the silence. She would place the meal under a metal lid and stare at the table one last time before she would head up.

Her sigh would tumble into a sob as tears would freely run down her face and— _Oh_.

Gale looked down at her hands on her lap, finding drops of water there. Turning to the sky, she tried to search for any rain clouds and tried to search for any sprinklers nearby. But the sky was clear and blue, and the sprinklers were on the other side of the park.

Her sigh turned into a sob, and that's when she realized what had happened. Reaching up slowly, she felt moisture on her cheeks. Of all the times that she would cry, it just had to be in the middle of the park in a sunny and nice day on her lunch break.

Gale hastily wiped her tears and her eyes dry, the sounds of the children laughing as they ran for the base suddenly turning grating to her ears. It twisted and tore at her heart.

She could never have that. And it wasn't because she was infertile.

Gale would never forgive herself for making a child see her that way—for making a child see Dean that way.

The clear sky and fresh breeze didn't make her feel better as she slowly packed away her untouched lunch and went to work, steering clear of the path that most children took and listening to some music to drown out her pain, longing, and the sound of her heart breaking.


	2. Come Home

**Author's Note:**

This content is a continuation of the daydream AU that Gale had in the park in the previous chapter. My lovely friend Steffes _did_ send a companion piece that shows Dean's perspective of that night, and I'm just showing Gale's perspective of the continuation.

* * *

Gale was never a light sleeper.

She always had the comfort of knowing that there were people around her that would be able to handle whatever was thrown at them, be it at the Hogwarts dorms or her own bedroom in her parent's house. Over the years, however, as Jane grew up, she learned to strain her ears for any trouble as she found herself left to be the protector of the house. She would never forgive herself should problems arise while she was fast asleep.

So, when she heard the door to their house open, her eyes snapped open. It took her a short while, but she finally got her bearings and remembered where she was.

The glow-in-the-dark starts on the ceiling calmed her down as she held their daughter closer, taking a moment to savor having her pride and joy in her arms. But that moment had to be over soon.

Gale slid off the bed, careful not to wake up their daughter. She took the baseball from one corner of the room and crept out of the room, closing the door with the flower design on the wood softly. With slow and careful steps, she descended the stairs, her hand tightening around the bat.

She must have been a ridiculous sight with her purple hair, floral pajamas, and thin frame, holding a bat as if she would swing at any time. But that never bothered her. She _would_ swing the bat at an intruder, if only it would make sure that their daughter would be safe.

Her grip tightened more on the bat, her knuckles turning white, as she saw the open front door. It was times like these that she wished that she had Dean with her. Just like the time that Jane got sick when she was an infant, or the time that Jane got a concussion from tripping over a rogue root, or the time that Jane had cried out that there was a monster under her bed, or the time that Gale had to let Jane go to her first day of school.

All of those times—the times that Gale felt truly and horribly afraid—she wished Dean was with her to provide her comfort, to protect them from those fears. However, life didn't work that way. Just like all of those times, Gale was alone.

She inspected their whole house, checking every nook and cranny for an intruder. She was wound up, her muscles tight as she readied herself for an encounter with anything and everything. So far, everything was clear.

It wasn't until she reached the couch close to front door that she noticed the piece of paper there with a hastily scribbled note in a handwriting that was, once again, painfully familiar. Picking it up and scanning her eyes over it, Gale had to hold back a sob as her body was dunked in so much pain.

 _Jane,_

I love you. Very much. I cannot describe the beauty and divinity I see in you. It is the same wondrous beauty I see in your mother. You and your mother have been the best things that has happened to me in my life. Your smile is very much award winning. I am very lucky to have you.

Gale,

I'm sorry...sorry for all those nights alone. I wish I could tell you this in person right now but I am a coward. I have been rightfully stripped of my Gryffindor crest long ago. I am sorry you have become chained to the wrong person. I am worthless, Gale. You must leave; please take Jane—run and never look back. Take the privilege of being able to do so for I cannot run from myself.

The note fell from her fingers as her mind tried to work itself to unfreeze her body. The pain was there: cold, burning, relentless, and quickly spreading.

"Dean," she breathed out, her voice cracking as she took shaky breaths.

The bat fell from her hand and made a loud _"clang!"_ when it hit the floor. The sound mirrored what she imagined her heart would sound like as it fell to the floor as well. It was the sound that made her brain go haywire as she looked around the living room madly, tears building up in her eyes as she searched for anything that can help her, anything that could anchor her down as she felt her soul slowly leaving her.

She felt like she couldn't breathe as her eyes would land at anything and everything that reminded her of him: _Their_ house, _their_ living room, _their_ bookcase, _their_ stereo, _their_ coffee table, _their_ couch, _their_ grandfather clock, _their_ kitchen, _their_ refrigerator. Everything in their house was shared. Every part had a piece of him. Wherever Gale looked, everything was a _"their"_.

 _Their_ daughter.

Without any other thought, she made a dash towards the coat hanger, shakily pulling out one of her coats and slipping it on. She changed her slippers for a pair of sneakers and rushed out, closing the door behind her.

Her lungs screamed and cried as she ran and ran and ran. Her eyes would dart left and right, trying to find the familiar silhouette that always made her heart throb and ache. She tried to find the familiar face the made her eyes soften and steel. She tried to find the hands that she wanted to touch and wanted to pull. She tried to find those beautiful brown eyes that she wanted to look at her—to simply look at her.

" _Dean!_ " she screamed, her throat scratching from the sheer intensity of her call.

It was the wrong move to stop running as she finally felt the fire in her lungs that lapped and seared the inside of her body. Her breathing was ragged as she tried to force air in and out. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked left and right, trying to locate the original source of her happiness. Her knees quaked, and her legs begged at her to stop. But her heart—her heart couldn't take that thought and asked her to continue.

Gale took in a gulp of air, shakily doing so through her tears and her sobs, before she started running again.

Her whole body was telling her to stop, to give up, to go back home. Lights and people passed her, making the world around her dizzying and nauseating. The pain was overwhelming, but she couldn't stop. There was simply no way that she could and _would_ stop.

Dean had told her to run away, but no matter what she did, she would always run towards him.

When she reached a bridge, she stopped, trying desperately to catch her breath before screaming, " _Dean!"_

Her legs finally gave out, and she crumbled to her knees. Sobs racked and jerked her body as her tears hit the pavement. Thoughts about Dean— _her_ Dean—and that note made her cry out and bury her head in her hands, letting the physical and emotional pain completely destroy her in the early morning.

If she could see Dean, she wanted to ask him a ton of questions concerned on the how.

How? How could she run away from him when all she wanted to do was run into his arms? How could she think of Dean as someone worthless when he was her world? How could she think of him as a coward when he bravely kept fighting for what was right? How could she believe that she was chained to the wrong person when even before the proposal she knew that Dean was the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with? How could she leave? How? _How_?

Her breathing started to come out in short gasps as her chest squeezed tightly.

 _No, no, no, no._ It had been years since she last had an asthma attack. She can't have a panic attack now in the middle of nowhere with no inhaler. She can't. She couldn't. _Jane_.

She wheezed and gasped, trying to force air back into her lungs. Her entire chest area burned as she curled into herself, trying to calm herself and regain her breathing. Gale's hands were shaking and her skin was turning cold when she heard the most melodic sound.

" _Mommy!"_

Gale squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to remember the voice that served as her rock, provided her peace, and instilled hope. She tried to focus her breathing on the rhythm of Jane's heart beat when she heard it the first time while she was pregnant. She tried to imagine the feeling of ma petit fleur's arms around her—a feeling that always kept her together and kept her whole.

And for some reason, it was as if she could really feel tiny arms wound around her in a comforting embrace, trying to keeping her whole. She could smell the sweet scent of flowers blooming in the sharp winter. She could feel the soft cheek pressed against the top of her head—

" _Mommy?"_

Gale's eyes snapped opened as she jerked away, eyes wide as she stared at their daughter, still clad in pajamas with a coat thrown over it. Her pale lips parted and pressed closed as she tried to quiet her wheezing in front of Jane— _their_ daughter, her guiding light, her precious flower.

Her lungs continued to squeeze themselves, almost as if it would completely collapse on itself as she continued to keep herself quiet. She was ashamed, completely embarrassed, that her daughter had to see her in this state with her face wet with tears, her lips pale and almost blue, her hair wild and tangled, and her heart openly shattered.

"J-Jane," Gale stuttered, reaching a shaking hand towards her daughter's cheek. Her words came out in gasps and wheezes which made her more ashamed and small compared to the child.

Jane looked at her mother with worry, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

Gale Azalea Thomas—she was a woman that always showed her best. Her hair was always done in an impeccable up-do or exquisite curls down her shoulders. Dress after dress would be worn, all of them pressed and artistic in design, simple but elegant. Her makeup was always put together and natural—clear eyes, faint blush on the cheeks, and a simple gloss on her lips.

The image now, it was something that Jane never thought she would see. It wasn't how her mother looked that shocked her. It was the simple fact that now…she could see the truth. All of the lies that her mother had built, the image that she tried to project, they all came crumbling down. Beaten, broken, pale in the face, struggling for breath, and crying.

Jane placed her bag on the ground and grabbed the emergency inhaler that was in her bag.

It was unfortunate, Gale would always think, that her condition was passed on to her child. Gale had wanted her to grow up strong and a bit athletic. She had wanted Jane to be able to play soccer with Dean without any of them worrying about her shortness of breath. She had wanted Jane to be able to catch up to her father.

But now, Gale was almost grateful that their daughter understood what it was like.

Their daughter shook the inhaler a few times, took off the cap, and held it towards her mother's mouth.

"Mommy, please," she begged, her throat closing up as well at seeing the truth.

Shaking and wheezing, Gale nodded and used the inhaler, taking in a lungful of the medication. The bitter taste in her mouth was sickening, but she pushed it to the back of her mind as she enveloped her hands around their daughter—their beautiful, sweet daughter.

She took another puff of the medication, just to make sure that the attack would stop and that their daughter won't worry again.

"H-How?" Gale asked, placing her hand at the back of their daughter's head. "D-Did you—Did you run—Did I w-wake you up-p?"

Jane clung to her mother, burying her face in the crook of her mother's neck. There, she finally felt safe and a bit peaceful. "I was so scared, Mommy."

"You—You ran out the door, and I was so scared," Jane continued, the tears from the corners of her eyes finally spilling down her cheeks and hitting Gale's coat.

Gale let out a sob. Whatever was left of her heart had shattered and fell to the ground. What had she done?

She had left her child and simply ran out of their home. Not only that, but she scared her as well. And now…now she was showing their daughter what she had always kept to herself.

"I'm so sorry," Gale breathed, tightening her hold on their daughter.

And she was sorry. She was sorry for suddenly leaving the house. She was sorry for making her daughter feel fear. She was sorry for letting their daughter see her in that state. She was sorry for being too rash and running after Dean. She was sorry for not making an effort to make sure that Dean was all right. She was sorry for not being strong enough to walk away from Dean so that they could have a normal life. She was sorry that their daughter had to grow up too fast and realize that Dean…might always be absent from their lives.

But most of all, Gale was sorry that she had become too dependent on her daughter.

Jane pat her mother's back, or at least the part that she could reach, as she said, "It's okay, Mommy. I'm just happy that you're okay."

"I don't deserve you," she whispered, trying to still her body that was still jerking from the sobs that escaped her lips and the pain that she felt. "You—ma petit fleur, you are the best thing that has ever happened to your father and I."

Gale pulled away and held their daughter's cheeks. And though the tears in her eyes made everything blurry, she swore that their daughter's face was so clear and so vivid to her.

"Mommy," Jane started, hiccupping as her mother wiped the tears that spilled the tears on her cheeks with her thumb, "why are you still crying?"

Gale chuckled lightly, though the sound sounded garbled through her crying. "I'm crying…"

She bit her lip and thought of her answer, but she knew their daughter deserved the truth.

"I'm crying because I am a-afraid—because I'm afraid and because I love your father s-so much."

"So much," she repeated as a fresh wave of tears cascaded down her face.

Jane looked at her mother, tried to memorize this moment where her mother was completely vulnerable. It was the truth, but Jane had decided: she never wanted to see her mother that way again.

Bringing up her small hands, Jane started wiping away her mother's tears.

"Dad loves you too, Mommy," she insisted, her tone confident. "I can see it. I _know_ Dad loves you."

Gale let out a sob and kissed their daughter's palm.

"Y-You do?" she asked, a pinch of disbelief in her tone.

Jane nodded her head, her curls bouncing. "He loves you. Because…even if it's late, he still comes home."

Gale wrapped her arms around her child and pulled her close, not wanting their daughter to see another wave of tears rush down her face.

She was right. Their daughter was right. She was wise enough to see the truth in the smallest things.

"Let's go home, Mommy," Jane said softly, clinging to her mother's coat. "Let's go home, and we can wait for Daddy together."

"You don't have to wait alone anymore."

Gale buried her face in her daughter's hair, sending out prayer after prayer of gratitude. The world had given her such a miracle. Through all of these dark times, she had found a light.

And amidst those prayers to Heaven, she sent out a prayer to her own personal Heaven.

 _Dean, our daughter's so strong,_ she thought.

 _She's independent and wise. She knows when trouble is arising, when silence is healing, and when her mother is hurting. Jane has the same intelligence and wit that you do. She has the same way with words._

 _Jane's so aware that I'm somewhat ashamed that she could see right through my smiles. She could see straight through me like you did. She knew when I would lie, when I would avoid the truth, when I needed time to cry._

But the best trait that she has of all is that she knows what to do to make others around her feel so loved.

 _She's so beautiful and wonderful, Dean. Everyday, I see her doing so many wonderful things. She asks me to make more sandwiches for her lunch for her friend who's always hungry. She cleans up after herself because she says that I already "do enough". She makes you all of these wonderful pictures and stories. She brings her toys to school to share with her friends. Whenever her friends ask her to come to a sleepover, she asks me if I want to sleepover at my friend's house too-because she knows I don't like to be alone._

 _She's growing up so beautifully, and I wish you can see her._

 _Dean, please, come home._

 _Come home so you can watch her grow up to be the person that we all dream we could be._

 _Come home so you can feel how much she loves her father and how much I miss my husband._


End file.
